


Submitted Before the Throne

by saliache



Series: Grand Porn Central [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, asshole Melkor, valar incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor finally has his brother in his grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submitted Before the Throne

They had the same face, if not the same expressions. When he looked, he saw the same pale eyes, the same aquiline nose, the same cloud-colored, fine-spun hair tucked behind identical ears. He did not have to use his hands to guess at the contours of his twin’s face, or the shape of his body beneath heavy armor.

 “Do you not remember,” Melkor breathed, “when you bade me to live out my days as the least of your subjects? I saw you as you truly were thus, brother. There was greed in your heart then – and desire.”

 “I desired peace between us, and an end to our ruinous conflict,” he said.

 “You desired  _me._ ”

 

 The very foundations of Melkor’s fortress shook under Tulkas’ assault. Melkor rose from his throne with uncaring ease, and paced to where his brother knelt.

 “They will break your gates, brother, and cast down your walls,” he murmured – pleaded? “It is not too late. You may yet-” Melkor silenced him with a gesture.

 “They will come,” he said, low and fey, “but until they do, you are  _mine_.”

 He said nothing; there was nothing to say. Melkor paced about him, low and dangerous with pent-up energy. The muscles in his  _fana_ ’s arms ached, but he did not dare lower them, or raise his head.

 A heavy, gloved hand settled on his head, and he was forced to refrain from shying away. It was during times like these that his brother could be at his most unpredictable.

 “Take off your clothes.” Melkor’s voice was strangled. “If the others must come, then they will come to see how truly wretched you can become.”

 Then again, his brother was generally  _very_ predictable.

 He reached for the ties fastening his overrobe. “Yes, my lord,” he murmured.

 Melkor’s breath hitched in his throat. “Say that again,” he commanded.

 “Yes,” he murmured, soft and breathy as the last of the cord came loose and cloth dissolved back into wind, “my lord.”

 He raised his head, then. There was a fierce gleam in Melkor’s eyes, predatory and possessive and not at all interested in the fact that his power base was slowly crumbling before the assault of his peers. To his surprise, he felt an answering stir in his belly, a strange yearning to see how far his brother would take his sport. He lowered his head again, unwilling to let Melkor know him thus.

 Hard-clawed hands settled on his shoulders and dragged them down until his forehead touched stone. He let his arms curl about his head, but was otherwise still. The same could not be said of the air about them; it fair quivered about them in restless anticipation. The winds grew, blew his hair into a tangle about his head as Melkor traced out the contours of his back.

 “Mine,” Melkor grunted. “You are  _mine._ ”

 “Mmmm,” he agreed. “Yes.”  _We have always been as one_.

 Melkor’s hands dipped lower, tracing soft blood-lined patterns along his buttocks, his thighs. One of them – the right hand, he thought – reached out to cup his balls and pull his hips up.

 “What is it,” Melkor growled pensively, “that the Children believe? That physical companionship, that  _sex_  binds them to each other forever?”

 “More or less,” he laughed breathlessly. Wind swirled about them in rising anticipation. Nor was it the only thing to rise, he realized. How… odd.

 “We already are as one,” Melkor mused. “ _Dearest_  Father saw to that.”

 And he thrust. Manwë bit his lip until it bled, crimson and messy, fighting to keep control over his  _fana_. It was, he thought, one of the few drawbacks of taking on the  _hroa_  of one of the Eldar.

 Above him, he could feel his brother’s mind, more clearly than any time since they had taken physical form. Melkor was delighted, almost lost to the world, thrusting automatically as his mind sang a veritable litany of possession. And he could feel it in himself, too, a low heat that spread from Melkor’s touch and curled about his body.

 Melkor finished off with a triumphant cry, and pitched his brother’s body against the cold stone floor. Manwë lay there, panting softly. The ache in his loins did not abate. When Melkor made no move, he struggled to his knees.

 “What about me, brother?” he asked.

 Melkor had returned to his throne, and lounged there in postcoital bliss. In the distance, Tulkas’ assault seemed to grow fiercer. “What about you?”

 He gestured at himself. “I did not think you would be one unwilling to finish what you started.”

 Melkor laughed, and he sighed inwardly. Of all the times for his brother’s unpredictability to show…

 “Will you beg?”

 “Excuse me?” No, no he would not beg.

 The darkness was back in Melkor’s eyes. “Beg for it,” he commanded, surging from his throne with the angry grace of an affronted cat. His armor creaked and groaned as it adjusted to his gait.

 Manwë’s mouth was dry. He was very much at the mercy of his elder twin, Tulkas was delayed, and the sensible thing to do would be to give in.

 “No,” he said.

 Melkor’s lips curled in an amused smirk. “Then no. I have already finished what I have started; only your submission will allow you the same.”

 Melkor’s pacing had taken him to where Manwë’s cord lay, pale and gleaming. He bent down and picked it up; wind rushed about it, as if eager to be bound up again. Manwë let him examine it, and focused on once again cleaning up after his brother, this time with his own hands. Or rather, just one hand, since there was limited room to maneuver.

 The cord settled around his neck and tightened. “Stop that,” Melkor commanded. “I did not give you permission to do that.”

 He let his hands settle by his side. His cock ached mercilessly, demanding attention; his helplessness only fueled that need. Melkor’s presence at his back reminded him of exactly what wasn’t in him.

 It was a pity he’d decided not to beg.

 “Did you know,” Melkor’s voice was conversational, almost detached. The pressure around his neck did not abate, and he focused on maintaining his breath. “That in the Void there are things that could bring even us to our knees?”

 Soft breaths stirred the fine hair at his temples; Melkor planted a soft kiss on his earlobe. “Listen to me. This is important.”

 He nodded as deeply as he could, given the circumstances.

 “In the Void, there are things that would make mere playthings out of us. Even you could not stand against them, brother. They showed me the truth. I was strong, and did not bend.

 But you, Mânawenûz, I can make you bend.”

 Then Melkor rose, and pulled him along, tethered by the length of his own cord – and wasn’t that an apt metaphor? – down into the bowels of his fortress. There was a tunnel there, and Aulë’s errant apprentice stood there, a pleased smirk on his golden face.

 No wonder Melkor hadn’t been worried. This… complication certainly put a crimp in things. Before he could do more than reach for the cord Melkor gave his rear a fierce slap and all but dragged him down the tunnel. Aulë’s traitorous apprentice closed it behind them.

 Melkor was laughing, and it did nothing to ease his decision not to beg. “You will learn, brother, I am not half the fool you thought me to be.” A hand reached down to caress his cock, “You’ll have all the time allotted to this world to learn.” 


End file.
